Utagawashī tamashī
by RaphSai03
Summary: Raphael has developed unwanted feelings for Casey Jones, his badass vigilante partner. He is filled with doubt, and vows to keep his feelings bottled up. Besides, Casey could never love him . . . right? Rated T for alcohol use. Possible RaphxCasey if I continue story.
1. Distant Feelings

**Hello everybody. This is the first chapter, or possibly the only chapter, of Utagawashī tamashī. I'm not sure if I'm going to leave this as a oneshot or add more to it, so please give me your feedback! I do take suggestions, so if you have any thoughts feel free to leave a review or pm me ;) Well, enjoy this short fic everyone.**

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A light rain drizzles down from the sky, padding against the cold rooftop. The wind blows, sending shivers running down my shell. That summer breeze I'd grown to love has faded away into a bleak draft that indicates the oncoming of the cold season. Chasing after the warmth of summer is my level-headedness. It's been replaced by an antsy feeling, one that makes me itch to get out of my own skin. Anxiety overtakes my intrepidity like a hurricane, washing away my fearlessness swiftly, leaving my with that awkward sense of absence.

But my loss of audacity isn't the only thing that's changed about me. My anger has become a fatal weapon, one that I'm not wielding. It seems to be backfiring at me. Though, it isn't exactly backfiring from the ones I've wronged. It is instead the universe who's firing back. What do I mean by this? Karma.

It isn't simple to explain, it hurts my head to think about it. Let's just say that I haven't been a very good boy and the cosmos want me to recognize my mistakes. From bullying my brothers to back-talking my father to stabbing allies in the back. I've been very exasperating.

Clever and keen, the heavens has made a rather obvious U turn with my fate. This "U turn" is the reasoning behind my distress. I'm not one for change, and one this big is far more unsettling than anything could ever be.

Lifting my hand, I take a swig from my Smirnoff, releasing a long needed sigh as the bittersweet liquor streams down my throat. The way it burns my insides on its way down is sensational.

My head spins, making me dizzy. To add to the wooziness, my vision goes black as hell as the alcohol clouds my thoughts. With everything foggy and unclear, I begin to feel . . . secure. But not enough to make me feel good about myself.

I cannot get it out of my head, the things I've begun to long for. It's a sin to have such feelings embedded in my heart, and the worst part is the way the roots have planted and the veins are already growing around me. I haven't told anyone, I'm too scared to. What'll they think? Or say?

Sitting alone in a freezing monsoon on a highrise in Manhattan, a bottle of vodka in my hand, I realize that this is as close to freedom that I'll ever get. And, in a state of desolate, no one is here to account for the words I say. I can finally come clean.

Sharply, I inhale the chilly atmosphere up my lungs. This is it, I can say it.

"I'm in love with Casey Jones."

I glance around, and when no one comes out of hiding, when no one is in sight, I smirk a bit. It's my little secret, no matter how much I hate it.

I can't exactly say that I loathe these feelings I hold towards my best friend, though. Love flows out of my heart like molten lava from a steaming volcano. Nothing anyone says or does can change this; I've become intrigued.

There's something about the hockey player that drives me insane. His near-black hair, the long lashes tangled in knots throughout. Those hickory brown eyes that gleam with mischief. Even his smile, though gap toothed, is enough to turn me on. He just has that spark to him.

But, as much as I love him, I know that the feeling will never be neutral.

Casey loves April, a girl who's hair is as red as the passion that burns within her. Her smile bright with optimism, eyes looking like the sky on a clear day. He adores her decidedly quirky sense of humor, and I just know that he would do anything to hold her in his arms as she drifts off into a blissful slumber. If only Casey knew how much I'd like to do that with for him.

I sigh. Who am I kidding? Even if I told Casey about these things I feel for him, it wouldn't change a thing. He'd still look at me as his best bud, and his crime-fighting-vigilante-partner. If anything were to change, it'd be that he hates me.

Let's face it, Casey's a hot guy who would never waste his time with a freak like me.

I have no chance with him, so I bottle it up and allow my doubts to consume me like demons.

To my dismay, I have become a Utagawashī tamashī. A Japanese name meaning, "doubtful soul."

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 **So I'm not really sure what to do with this. Should i leave it a one-shot or add a couple more chapters? I know for sure that this won't be a huge story, just about five chapters. What do you guys think? Please follow/favorite/review! I'd appreciate it. Have a nice weekend everyone ;)**

 **-RaphSai03**


	2. Hurting For You

Circles, circles, circles. My head spins and quakes. Legs trembling, arms shaking, I grasp onto the counter for support. My chestnut brown eyes have bags under them, caused from lack of sleep, and an oversized cut on my lip, achieved from a rough battle against the purple dragons. Staring at myself through the mirror, I heave a sigh. I look so beaten up, not at all tough and strong. The build of too many caged emotions runs me down, weakening me both internally and externally. "Or I just had too much booze," I mutter in my Brooklyn accent.

The reasons behind my dizziness—my shakiness, my uneasiness, my never ending confusion and sense of loss—are endless. Maybe it's from the alcohol I drank all too quickly, emptying nearly ten bottles, or maybe because of the overdose of antidepressants, or it could be because of the defeat I've felt over the past week. Or maybe . . . maybe it's these strange thoughts I've become surrounded by.

Yeah, probably.

Though, I cannot begin to describe them. No matter how many pencils and sheets of paper you were to place in front of me, I would never be able to express myself. Not even one word would slip out of my mouth.

But, surprisingly enough, I can explain the feeling it leaves me with.

Pain.

Ever since the beginning, these thoughts have hurt me more than mental statements should. They came rolling in one day, like a misfit. It pulled out a gun and shot me in the chest.

Right in the heart.

On target.

Bullseye.

Ka-Boom.

Game over.

I collapsed to the ground as my heart fell out of my chest, rolling away. I gasped in agony at the absence of it. Empty, hollow, undesirable. That's how I felt. It was instant. One second, fine, the next, depressed.

Who am I?

I am Casey Jones.

What's wrong with me?

I am in love.

Who with?

I hesitate.

How can I answer this?

Gah, it's just a thought inside my head, simple question!

But there are so many other thoughts in my head, all of him.

Him.

The one I love.

The one I crave.

Him.

Raphael.

I don't know how long I've been in love with him, but it's been long enough for me to be desperate. One night, a time I can't particularly remember, I took a swig of him. I inhaled his toxins, like the drug that he is. Quickly, after only a few doses, I became addicted. I can't get enough of him. My skin crawls when I'm around him, all I want is to run my fingers over his smooth, delicate skin. To kiss his beautiful lips.

Him.

The one I love.

The I crave.

Him.

Raphael.

I want the security of his muscular arms wrapped around my torso as I drift into a peaceful slumber. The sound of his crisp voice whispering sweet nothings will become the soundtrack to my life, I will be fueled by his love. Or lust. Nevertheless—no matter what it is we would ever be—I need him. Whether a friend or a lover. I need him.

Him.

The one I love.

The one I crave.

Him.

Raphael.

I ain't blind, though. I know that there is no Raphael Hamato and Casey Jones happy ending. There will only ever be Raph and Casey, the vigilante duo. Because Raphael doesn't feel the same way towards me as I do him.

Through Raphael's eyes, I'm his best friend. His rock, his go-to. I've never—I'll never—be anything more.

Through Raphael's eyes, I'm in love with April O'Neil. I guess that for a while that was true, I did love her. But looking back, I realize that that washouts infatuation.

Although, Raphael is bisexual. He came out to the family just last week. But even if he doesn't have a gender preference, that doesn't mean he wants me. Why would he? I'm nothing but trouble. And anyway, we're best friends, there's no way he would want to be anything more.

I love Raphael. Everything about him. His smile his eyes. His strong voice. His muscles. His swift movements. His battle cries. The way his mask tails blow in the wind as he surveys the city. The way he twirls his twin Sai after ever victory. The way his eyes flutter when he's tired. The way he forced them open.

I mentally kick myself for thinking about all of the glamorous traits of Raphael. It hurts, knowing I will never have him.

It hurts so fucking bad.


	3. Drunken Haze

**Hello again! Long time no see. Sorry for such a long pause on the updates, I hate to keep everyone waiting. But here it is! This chapter is from Raph's POV, and does have a few suggestive scenes. Enjoy and review.**

Wind blows from every direction as I trudge through heavy, spiraling rain. The thick sound of roaring breezes mingles with booming thunder, and I can't help but shudder at the brutally cold weather. I can just barely see where I'm going; rain pours in all directions, and if it weren't for the blinding flashes of lightning, I'd have fallen of a building miles ago.

As tempted as I am to turn back and go home to my warm bed, I can't. April called me less than an hour ago, telling me that she'd been sitting on her balcony reading when she'd seen Casey stumbling through the streets, dead drunk. Worried, she'd contacted me, given that I am quite familiar with the aftermath of too much alcohol. I didn't take offense to this—I probably should have, she clearly had labeled me an alcoholic—because I was far too concerned for Casey to care. I hung up almost immediately, practically bolting out of the lair in search for my drunk friend.

I find him now, huddled in the back of an alley, shivering in his drenched clothes, about 100 yards from where April reported seeing him. Leaping down into the alley, I land before him, causing Casey to jerk his head up, his eyes meeting mine.

They're hickory brown; the orbs that've been implanted in his attractive face. They reach for my attention, grasping onto me tightly. It takes every fiber in my being to look away, but I only last a few seconds, because then I'm feeling lonely and that stare he gives me makes me feel complete.

So I gaze at him, our eyes locked on one another. I'm walking forward, suddenly, and the next moment I'm kneeling before him. My hands stretch out, ready to hold onto Casey's. I hoist him up off the ground, but when I'm ready to release his hands from mine, he tightens his grip.

My face goes hot with blush, his touch warming my body up about a hundred degrees. It isn't until he begins leaning towards me that I push him off.

"C'mon, Case, we gotta get you home." I'm mostly saying this to myself, as a reminder that now isn't the time for kissy-face. Not that Casey would wanna tongue wrestle with me anyhow.

Still, I allow myself to think about his lips on mine as I guide him home, his arm tucked beneath mine. He mumbles, words slurred, not at all understandable. But I like the sound of his voice in comparison to the screaming rain and jolts of thunder. So I let him talk, nodding him on, repeatedly telling myself that this is how it outta be. Just two buds—one of which is drunk—soaking in the comfort of each other's company.

This should be enough for me, I should be happy like this. Only I'm not. The more I reflect upon it the truer it becomes. I'm in love with Casey Jones.

Moments like these don't quench my thirst, because I don't want friendship, I crave romance. No, I don't crave him, that's an understatement. I'm desperate for his mouth moving against mine as my fingers tangle themselves in his hair and his hands cup my face lovingly. I'm starving for the feel of his body on top of mine, that pleasurable feel of him pounding in me harder with every thrust. The wait for him to want me back is leaving me with a haggard, dehydrated feeling that only he can cure.

Casey's head bobs to the side, landing on my shoulder. I shift, not wanting him too close, in fear of what he might make me want to do. Luckily, we're on the balcony outside his bedroom. Well, it would be luckily, if I could just get the damn window open.

"For fuck's sake Jones, why 'you always lock-in' this damn thing?" I give the window another shove; whether it be out of frustration or in hopes that that'll open it, I don't know, but what ever it was, it doesn't help one bit.

I take him round front, to try the front door. But it doesn't budge, and I wouldn't dare knock on the door in attempt to summon his father; who knows what'll happen then. A mutant turtle delivering your dead-drunk son to the door? Probably not the best thing to be woken up for at 3:30am.

Shit. Now what? There's no way in hell that April would take him in, not when he's crushing on her and he's a mile and a half past drunk. She'd rather die than allow him into her home when he's in this state. So there's only one other option if I'm not leaving him out on the streets in hopes that he'll sober up before dawn—which I would never do—and that is take him to the lair.

...

Well the walk here certainly was festive. Casey threw up on me—twice, I might say—and after I scolded him for the first time, he began to cry and crying turned to sobbing and there was no calming him down by then. So when the second storm came around I'd learned its best to just silently curse about it.

We're nearing the lair entrance, and I know for a fact that everyone's asleep, even Donnie, who stays in his lab till practically the crack of dawn.

I turn to Casey, letting him down off my shell, which I'd been carrying him on. "We have to be really quiet going in, okay? Can you be super quiet for me?" Casey nods a response, and mumbles a few gurgled words.

I inhale sharply, praying to God that Casey won't screw up.

Grabbing Casey's hand, I stealthily guide him to the bathroom. He doesn't make a sound for the most part, although he did almost fall and if it weren't for my swift rescue, he'd have clanked to the ground louder than an elephant.

I turn on the shower, holding my hand under the stream of drizzling water to measure whether the temperature is warm enough. When it is, I help Casey strip himself of his bile covered clothes. I will admit, this isn't how I imagined my first time doing this would be.

Ideally, I'd wanted us alone, in my bedroom. The lights would be off, maybe a few candles lit to set the mood straight. Our lips would move fiercely against each other, my fingers combing through his hair as his hands traveled down my carapace, his soft, gentle stroking enough to turn me on. My hands'll drop to his waistline, and he'll unbutton his faded jeans, leaving them for me to pull off. My index fingers will buckle themselves around his belt holes, and as his jeans slowly drop down, he'll tug my mask away.

His shirt was lost to the floor long ago, back when our heavy makeout first began. Now, though, there's nothing between us. Not a single cloth, no attire left on our bodies. He lays me down on the bed, a smirk plastered on his face as he leans down, lips puckered, coming closer and closer to me with ever passing second . . .

I shake my head, urging my fantasies away. A scowl masks my face as I glare deeply at my clenched fists.

"Careful not to slip," my tone is sharp, not even the slightest bit of light shining through the cracks of the syllables in my words. Just as I say this, Casey trips over the ledge getting into the shower, nearly falling, if it weren't for my rescue; the second one tonight.

I step into the shower after him, holding onto his shoulders to steady him. My legs quake, and I'm afraid that I'm going to fall over myself, and no one will be able to help me up.

That's the scary part, because the longer I stare into his hickory brown eyes, the closer I am to hitting the ground. There's something about his soft eyes that soothes my soul, although, I don't know quite what it is that I find so alluring. Perhaps it's the memories they bring back, of the farmhouse tiles. Casey's eyes are just the right shade to match the floorboards at the O'Neil farmhouse, a dark brown, near black. Every time I meet my buddy's gaze I can't help but be drawn back to simpler times, when my only concern was to make the ice tea for my family to drink. So many afternoons were filled with me and my brothers and Casey and April all raving through that house, playing games like hide-and-seek and freeze-tag. The creaking of the ground beneath your feet was always enough to tell the main player where you were hiding, and no one could help but silently curse as the floors gave away their keen hiding spot.

That isn't the only memory his eyes bring back, though. Sometimes I think of the woods when I stare into those gleaming orbs. They resemble the thickness of a tree, and a million thoughts could be read from his eyes all at once, just like the patterns on the bark. Lights dance on Casey, he's always attracting the spotlight, similar to the muddy creeks the sun shines down upon on warm, summer mornings.

Bottomline is that Casey calms me, I'm 100% convinced that he's my better half. I love him, and I couldn't stop if you paid me a million dollars. I can't help myself, he's far too mesmerizing to ignore.

In the here and now, Casey's hand drifts upward, landing on my cheek. I lean into the caress, a small smile appearing on my large lips. He takes a step forward, then another. His chest is against my plastron, his hands cupping my face. It's exactly how is dreamy it, except it isn't. Because this isn't really Casey, this isn't really what he wants. He's drunk and the alcohol is making him want me in more than one way. I'm not going to kiss him, or touch him, our do anything other than help him get to bed so he can sober. We'll talk in the morning.

...

"Casey, get in bed," I hiss, my temper getting the better of me. He's stumbling around my room, swaying as he walks, studying every object and poster and picture and book. He won't stay still, and it's rather irritating, considering my main goal currently is getting him to bed.

"'Mon Raph, we can stay up a bit lat'a," he slurs between hiccups.

As I bit my lip, watching him wander around my room, repeatedly telling myself that if any of my family members decide to walk in, not only will they find Casey half naked, but also dead drunk. And considering the garbage bag of Budweiser they all know I have stashed away in my closet, the situation won't be so great on my end, either.

"No. Bed. Now," I point to the cot, it's blankets vent forward so he can easily slip under them. Casey Starr's at me over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he calculates my sternness. Seeming to come to a realization that I'm no longer messing around, he heaved a sigh and wanders to the bed.

The blankets pull over him, warming him, I presume. I could only get him back into his boxers, they were the only thing not covered in throw up. Luckily, I was able to find an old pair of sweatpants in my drawer, and thankfully, they fit him perfectly.

I walk over to the bed, dodging Casey's sleepy glance as I grab my pillow. When I begin to retreat towards my bedroom door, Casey sits up, reaching out his hand to stop me from leaving. "Where ya goin'?"

"To sleep in the living room, Jones," I rub massage my temple, eyes closed, as I wait for a response.

"No," he plops back down on the mattress with a loud 'thump.' "Sleep in here with me."

A low growl vibrates through my throat, but I turn around anyway, and drop my pillow onto the ground. I stare Casey dead in the eyes, a challenge written across my face. He ignores it though, patting the empty spot beside him on the mattress. I know instantly that he wants me to sleep with him.

I shake my head, my eyes wide with refusal. "Please," he pouts, looking up at me like a child.

No, I can't sleep with him, because them I'll want to do more than just sleep and judging by his drunk, out-of-my-mind state, he might just give it to me.

Still, I pick up my pillow and crawl into bed with Casey, just to make him happy. Pulling the string on my bedside lamp, the light goes out, and I can't see a thing. My eyes slam shut immediately, and I know instantly that it won't take long to get to sleep. It's a quarter to five, and the last day has been far beyond stressful.

I'm just drifting into a soft and peaceful slumber when I feel it. I don't know why I'm so surprised, after all Casey has tried to kiss me, gripped tightly onto my hand as we walked, and traced small shapes over my shell while whispering delicate words to me, all within the past hour. So, it shouldn't come as a shock when Casey's nose is nuzzling into the back of my neck.

His hands tie around my waist, and he's scooting closer and closer, until his chest is right up against my shell. Any closer and we'd be one person.

He kisses my neck lightly, his lips soft against my skin. I can't pull away, I'm too close to the edge of the bed. There's no escaping from this, I'm trapped in a thick embrace, and the saddest part is, I'm not sure if pull away if I could.

"Casey . . ," I moan his name, a purr of satisfaction growing in the depths of my throat. I turn around to face him, but he obviously has other ideas.

Casey pins me on my shell, climbing onto my carapace in an act to straddle me. His hands get to work on massaging the skin around my plastron, the skin he knows is the most sensitive thing on my body; well, next to my tail. But he leaves that be, for now.

My head falls limp against my pillow as my eyelids fall. I heave a song sigh of pleasure. "You like that, don't ya, Raph?" Casey's voice is as smooth as silk as he talks to me in a sensual tone. "I could give you more, I could make you feel things you've never felt before." That's when his hands wander to the edge of my carapace, and his fingers begin to rub circles around my cloaca adding the pleasure that ripples through my body at immense speeds.

Reality strikes hard, though, to my dismay. My eyes shoot open, wide, as I realize that Casey's preparing me for sex.

I grab his hands in mine, taking them away from the parts of me I'd rather him not touch. Well, I'd like him to touch me there, I would do anything to have his hands wander all over me, tracing over every scar, every puncture, every curve and every edge. But not when he's drunk, he doesn't mean it when he's drunk. When he's drunk he just wants some action, and he won't care who he gets it from. Unless he's sober and absolutely positive that he loves me like I love him, then I'm not going to go all the way with him, not in that sense.

Moving his hands nearer to my face, I press my lips to his palms, staring up at him with glowing eyes. "Casey, look, I love you to bits, and I want this, us, more than anything. But I can't do this unless I know you want it as much as me."

"But I do."

"For all I know this is just the alcohol talking," I say with a stern expression, dead serious.

Casey sighs, getting off of me. I don't push him away when he snuggles up to me, though, because it does feel nice to have his body radiating heat onto mine. So, I wrap my arm around his thin form, and together we drift into a peaceful sleep.


	4. Confession

**Hello everyone! Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad that you are all enjoying this short fic. Please enjoy chapter four and leave a review. ;)**

I wake in Raphael's bedroom, a pair of sweatpants the only clothing I have on. My heart leaps to my throat, staying there as I sit up. The bed creaks beneath me, causing Raphael to turn. His eyes meet mine, bright against the dark walls surrounding us.

"You're awake," it's more of a statement that he makes, less of a question.

"Yeah, I am," I reply awkwardly. My eyes sift through the cluttered corners of the bedroom, drifting over the posters with careful inspection. Anywhere other than his eyes will do.

My head is pounding, throbbing harder and harder with every passing second. I know that it's a side affect of a hang over, I'm used to mornings like these. Only, today is different, because, as I sit within an arms length of Raphael, I feel embarrassed. And exposed. And weak.

"You were pretty screwed up last night, Jones."

"Oh, uh, yeah, about that . . ," I trail off, rubbing the back of my neck profoundly, face hot with blush. "What exactly happened?"

Raphael lets out a sigh and stands up, beginning to pace around the bedroom.

"Well, first I find you dead drunk in the back of an alleyway, mumbling about God knows what. Then, I try to bring you home, but your window was locked! And it was rather obvious that I couldn't drop you off on the door step, given your drunken state." With a vile tone, he spats at me, disgusted by my previous behavior. My hands shake in fear; fear that he'll no longer except me, fear that I'm further pronounced dead to him. "So I take you down here, get you in the shower—oh, ya barfed on me a couple'a times, too. I fall in after you, and you make a move on me! You were puckered lips and all, trying to kiss me.

"Finally I got you to my room, had you lay in bed. You insisted I accompany you on the mattress. And that's when you tried to have sex with me."

Eyes wide in both shock and denial, I spring to my feet. "I was fucking drunk! Do you honestly think I would've done that with a straight mind?"

"I dunno, Jones. You have been pretty jacked up lately. Ever since I came out as bi to everyone, you've been practically drooling over me."

I shake my head. He's got it all wrong, I don't just want him because he's gay, I didn't start loving him when he announced it. It started far before that, although, his statement added to my lust.

"That's fake," I say with a hiss. "I don't have a crush on you, Raph, that's fucking loony."

"I'm beginning to think this whole argument was loony," Raphael mutters, shaking his head profoundly.

I raise an eyebrow, staring at him in curiosity. His tone switched from infuriation to exhaustion in a short matter of seconds, causing confusion to rain down on me. "What d'ya mean by that?"

"What I mean, is that this was a pointless argument. I knew, deep down, that this would be your answer," his eyes narrow as he shoots a glare at the floor. The ground beneath his feet sets aflame by his powerful stare. I take a step towards him, not caring when the flames lap at my feet.

"Then why bring this argument up?" I demand, believing that the answer would be harmless.

"Because I love you!"

The last three words echo, bouncing off the walls, reverberating around my skull over and over and over.

I love you.

He loves me, desires me like I desire him.

I love you.

He loves me, craving me like I crave him.

I love you.

He loves me, with as much force as I love him.

We can be together.

Only we can't.

Because I lead him to believe I didn't want him.

Oh shit.

The gleam in his emerald eyes as he glances up at me is painful, feeling like a stab in the chest. He looks like he's drowning in the agony of betrayal.

I step towards him, moving faster and faster with every step. And then there I am, and here he is. His face is cupped in my hands as I stare deeply into his eyes. "I lied."

My lips crash into his forcefully, and I don't give him the chance to pull away as I shift one hand to the back of his head, and my other to his own hand. Our fingers lace together, and he relaxes against me.

He's kissing back, lips wet against mine. His right hand is combing through my hair, breaking the messy black knots into shiny locks.

We drift away, out of breath. But I don't move too far away. My forehead rests on his, and as we breathe the same air, our eyes lock, mesmerized by the sight of each other. "I love you," I murmur.

The words swim around us, slipping through the cracks of silence. They sink deep, I can see my confession seeping into his heart.

"And I love you."

I smile, grinning like the lovesick fool that I am. Leaning back into him, we pick up right where we left off, in a deep, intoxicating kiss.


End file.
